take flight (rewriting)
by thirteen's vodka
Summary: (warnings: triggering topics) flying will numb the pain, but it won’t go away ‘till you move on.
1. dear emily,

**A/N: New fanfic! It's Jalex this time with tons of references of Jemily in the past. Emilex, the endgame ship in Matchmakers, was really fun to write but I'm switching back to Jalex since a lot of Alex fans enjoy them together. The rating of this story may shift due to the angst, so for future chapters, sorry.**

 **Characters and references from Criminal Minds do not belong to me.**

 **—o—**

Dear Emily,

Besides this letter that you are reading at the moment, my resignation form lies ahead. Now, you might be thinking how much frustration and annoyance that you're feeling because I'm making this rash decision, but I've added so much consideration to this. And Spencer and Garcia, yes, I've thought about them too.

I'm leaving. Yes, I am. I'm not going to sugarcoat it because I want this. Really, really badly do I. I know that this team has already faced so many losses for the past year, but I cannot bear anymore of this. Torture, perhaps. I'm at a war with myself, a war I cannot fight when I'm constantly around the environment that the opposing side takes advantage of.

I have no idea when I'll be back. Hell, I don't even know if I'm ever going back. I'm too out of it to focus.

Henry and Michael are in the care of Will now. The team will eventually know that we have been divorced. Might as well give them the letter to drop the big bomb. He won't know where I am, and I won't know where I'll go till I find it. Somewhere comfortable.

I have hope that I will. That's the only thing that I can depend on right now, even though it has bitten my ass many times for over the decade.

Tell Spencer that it isn't his fault that I left. It's my choice—if anything, he should take it all out on me. Just tell him that.

Garcia is going to compulsively quit the job. Don't let that happen to her. She needs everyone more than ever before. And everyone is going to need her more than ever. Also, don't let her track me down. She's going to receive dead ends everytime.

Emily, please keep the team active as ever. They shouldn't be distracted on the job and in their personal lives. Tell them that I'm fine. I'll be okay.

I love you. Always. I'm so happy for you. Don't let her slip away from your life like I did with you. Don't do the same mistake that drove us apart.

Don't become me.

With my heart rested upon you,

Jennifer


	2. last night

**i. Last Night**

In JJ's world, cherry blossoms grow everywhere.

Valleys and low hills cover the landscape and are painted pink from cherry blossom petals. Gentle breezes whisper by with serene grace. Lakes and ponds of water so clear it's transparent come by here and there. Mammals roam free and enjoy the comfort of the tranquility in this haven.

It's too bad that her time here is limited. She has to go back to reality sometime. _Why is it a need to go back there, though?_

She thinks it's unfair sometimes. Having offered her life for the many times to keep the United States of America a sliver bit safer, the wounds wear her down the same sliver bit each day. JJ wonders how, at times, she still has her sanity, or maybe what's left of it, intact. It would be clear for others: for her husband and her children. Or maybe her former team.

But sometimes, she admits to herself with the embrace of guilt, it's to keep her paradise alive. Without her inner world, she would be dead. Physically or not.

She writes all about this other-worldly place in her worn-down, coffee-scented journal—the same one her grandmother had given to her before she died. It had been two weeks into her first year in college, and she was glad that the journal hadn't been touched yet. Ever since she moved out just a month before, however, she had started pouring out everything she'd bottled inside into the yearning-to-be-written notebook. Somehow, the coffee odour had kept her running at night sometimes.

When the doorbell rings at the edge of dusk, she expects it to be her newfound friend Odette. The brunette woman of Filipino descent stands at an amazing height, a mere two inches taller than JJ, and holds her heart of honey and many things gold close but suffused to those she cares a bit too much.

However, Odette is not the one who rang her bell. The woman who does is probably the least expected person to do so.

"Hello, JJ," she greets in a soft voice, "how are you feeling at this hour?"

The shock swallows JJ's words that she half-heartedly rehearsed in her head. She hasn't seen this woman for over 3 years, yet she never had a close relationship with her. Why the hesitance and the nervousness?

"Blake?"

Said woman wears a half-smile, guilt seen by the curve of her lips. It's only 7:48 in the morning, from what JJ could judge from the hands of the other's watch.

She pretends to ignore the realisation; it's not like she minds, really. "How did you find me?" is the question that bugs her mind more.

"You don't remember what happened the night before?" inquires the linguist, her face showing signs of genuine surprise.

—o—

 _JJ is drunk. She has a suspicion of her intoxication earlier, but by then it was too late. Her tipsy manner is barely getting her by in the night club, which she doesn't know why the hell she was compelled to "drop by" anyways. She couldn't find her way around, and her phone's on the limit of its battery power. Even her stubborn manner couldn't defeat the fact that she's feeling helpless._

 _If only the one person she truly loved the most is here, comforting her and guiding her around: Emily._

 _She can't depend on her anymore, no. Jennifer Jareau does not want to be the dependent woman she once was during her relationship with the ex-Interpol agent. Her habits have lead to their relationship's destruction, she admits, even with the scandalous factors behind the two._

 _Despite that, she and Emily had a healthy romance. At least, the healthiest that they both had._

 _She at least makes it to the bar section. Its blue and purple neon lights blind and pain her eyes, so she keeps her head low. Letting her blonde hair cascade down, she signals the bartender she saw a slight glimpse of to hand her a shot of whatever._

 _"Damn, Jen, you're going to deliberately trying to feel like death tomorrow, eh?" The bartender's accent is strong and Irish; JJ could tell who she's conversing with._

 _"To hell with my feelings, Isla," she responds, her head still buried in her hair and arms._

 _"Well, okay, whatever."_

 _Isla slides multiple shots of Whiskey to the left of JJ; the blonde downs it all with no hesitation. When she tries to request for another set, the bartender is already busy with another customer. Groaning with the frustration of the lack of alcohol in her system, she bellows out moody curses within herself._

—o—

"I can't even recall the entirety of yesterday and the night before that," JJ answers tiredly.

It's been an hour since the linguist was invited in; Blake nods as she's seated and finds pleasant comfort on the grey lounge sofa. JJ can tell that she hasn't had much sleep either, with or without her profiling skills. The older woman so badly wants to lay herself on the soft cushions but has to live by her politeness.

"You know you can stay over if you'd like," the blonde finally says after a silent moment of analysing the brunette shifting to make it seem as though she's wide awake. "I've slept on that couch so many times it's practically my bed too."

"I don't want to be an added burden, though," but Blake's exhausted and slurred speech tells so otherwise.

"You won't be." JJ musters up remainders of her strength to get up from the matching armchair. "You sleep, and we'll talk about it more in the morning. Okay?"

Blake bobs her head groggily. "Yeah, okay." She's knocked out before the younger blonde steps away from the living room.

—o—

JJ thinks about her inner paradise as she's waking up. By that, it's when she's out of her bed and made, out of the bedroom, and by kitchen island preparing for breakfast.

Blake was there—inside the psychologically built world; it could just be her subconscious remembering fragments of that night. The woman was telling her when she arrived at the scene (so, she was there) before she was awoken by her annoying loud alarm clock.

JJ fits on her night robe over her two-piece lingerie and slips on a pair of fluffy sock slippers before heading out to the kitchen area. While doing so, she stretches arms several times just to relieve her dazing state. It's like her hangover came back just to make her feel awful for the hell of it.

However, when she's out of the hallway, the suffused smell of bacon and eggs fills the atmosphere, and JJ notices that Blake is wide awake cooking breakfast. The older woman has on everything from the night before except her slacks and blazer. Her blouse is unbuttoned and her grey undershorts are slightly visible from the blonde's perspective.

She looks comfortable, yet JJ's cheeks are flushed red at the sight of the linguist slightly stripped down.

"Good morning?" comes out of mouth suddenly, and she slaps her mouth. It's too late.

Blake's attention shifts to the awoken blonde but smiles when the blonde expects a more awkward response. "Morning, Jayje." Then, she looks down at her attire. "Oh, sorry. I forgot that I tossed my slacks off when I woke up. Do you have a pair of pyjama shorts that you don't mind me borrowing?"

"Yeah, sure." JJ is relieved and runs back to her bedroom before cursing to herself again.

Once the linguist's settled in with the appropriate clothing, the blonde and she are ensconced in the dining table busying themselves with their breakfast meal. They are both occupied in thoughts, but either of them couldn't stop noting the awkward tranquility between each other. No matter how hard both of them ignore the space, it wouldn't leave their minds.

Blake shatters the silence. "Do you want to know what happened now?"

"Yes, please," replies JJ, and she swallows the chunk of eggs she was chewing on. "Sorry."

"It's alright." The chestnut-haired woman dabs her face with her handkerchief. "So, I came there..."

—o—

 _When Blake finds JJ amongst the chaos, she does a double-take. It's not until the blonde turns around that the older woman recognises her through the familiar side-profile. Even in the ruckus and the distance of the memories, she could remember the former agent with a supernatural clarity._

 _She finds herself sauntering to the drunken younger woman. Isla, the bartender conversing to the blonde, tells Blake that she's definitely too intoxicated to drive home and needs a ride home._

 _"I'm sorry that I have to ask you this favour, but I'll have to wait a few more hours if I'm going to bring her home myself," she says over the loud music booming, "her address is inside her purse, so you can tuck her in bed there??"_

 _"It's no problem!" Blake responds. "I know her anyways. Former colleague of mine."_

 _"You're in the FBI?"_

 _"Used to be. Now, I'm here teaching linguistics in Northeastern University."_

 _"Professor and an FBI agent. That would certainly charm one."_

 _"Yeah, it'll take more than just my occupation to lure one in." She pauses. "I'll take JJ now?"_

 _"Sure, it's better that way. She's had too much to drink and I feel guilty that I let her."_

 _"I'm going home?" blurts out the intoxicated blonde in question, who almost startled the other women._

 _Blake nods, handing a $50 bill to Isla for gratitude as she wraps JJ's arm around her shoulder. "Yes, we're going home. The time for fun is up, sweetie."_

 _"Are you familiar? I don't wanna get kidnapped."_

 _"I'm a dear friend, in all honesty. You can trust me."_

 _"You smell familiar."_

 _"Yes, you can trust me, Jayje."_

 _"Okay, friend!"_

—o—

"Oh God," remenisces JJ, embarrassment evident in her eyes, "I'm such an idiot. Please tell me I didn't do anything else!"

Blake hangs her head slightly and guiltily nods. "There was the sudden vomit in my car..."

The blonde's eyes widen. _Not the fucking car!_

"...but I cleaned it up already, so you don't have to do anything," the linguist finishes.

Yet JJ feels sick just repeating the thought in her mind. She's not good with guilt manifestations despite the amount of compartmentalisement training.

"I should at least pay you something," she avows. "After all, Isla couldn't bring me home!"

"Then Isla's the one that owes me something." Blake shrugs. JJ shouldn't be going through the trouble, anyways. "I won't bother, though. I still have some people under my sleeve that I can go to for a favour."

JJ straightens, folding her arms so her palms meet with her inner elbows. "I'll still insist," she deflects, "so you should take the offer. Isla's ex-military and respected by her comrades."

"Fine, I accept."

—o—

 _"You're going to actually tuck me to bed, Alex?" the blonde drunkily giggles, changing into her pyjamas._

 _"You won't remember a thing about today anyways, so why the hell not?" Blake replies, who's waiting for her on the other side of the bedroom door._

 _"Honestly, you could just leave. I may be drunk as hell, but I manage myself to sleep."_

 _"And that's the thing. Your tolerance of alcohol is very advanced. You sure you're not addicted?"_

 _"You would tell if I was addicted from thousands of miles away. I'd reek of booze."_

 _"But you're also a profiler, Jennifer. You know how others think, especially the team."_

 _"Yeah, well," JJ pauses to open the door, "I'm not. I'm just having one of those depressive days. Not addicted."_

 _"That's what Erin used to say before she devolved into an alcoholic, emotionless bitch."_

 _"Dammit, Alex, I'm nowhere near her!"_

 _"You could be if you stoop too low."_

 _"Alex, just—"_

 _Just what?"_

 _"—just leave. I never asked for you to take me home anyways."_

 _"I was doing you a favour!"_

 _"Please!"_

—o—

After JJ sends her regards, Blake finds herself pondering about what truly happened that night. Most of what she shared with the blonde was the truth, she could admit, but the blonde is fragile. She shouldn't know what happened.

The truth needs to be hidden.


	3. the bar

**ii. Bartender Profiling**

It crosses Blake's mind that she hasn't seen JJ throughout town, and it's worriesome. This is considering the fact she knows that the blonde only lives a couple of blocks from her own flat. She thinks about the night club again, but the whole incident was probably just the woman blowing off some steam. There's also a bar and a park not too far, so that couldn't be it.

What is happening with Jennifer Jareau's life?

She contacts Reid two days after the visit to JJ's, and he tells her that the woman didn't want to be found by the team. "Like Gideon," she recalls him saying like salt on an open wound.

It had been suspected that it was the case, but she still was in shock when the genius laid out the news. Somehow, the team all agreed to the terms, but Emily Prentiss is now the Unit Chief of the team. Things really changed.

Emily and JJ were in love with each other, that she could tell. She watched them that one time the ex-Interpol agent had met her during JJ's kidnapping, watched closely at their attitudes toward each other. Maybe it was jealousy fuelling her, but she did know that she wanted to have that kind of connection with someone, to share affection with.

Obviously, James didn't give her that, but he did make for a promising partner and overall a decent ex-husband. It's slightly weird now considering they've been close more than ever before when they were married.

She's in a local coffee store when she turns to him for some advice. "JJ didn't want to be found by the team, but she was found anyways. Sort of."

"Are you going to tell the team that you found her?" inquires him through the Skype call.

Blake disagrees, "It'll be disrespectful for her. Despite how much I want the team to help, I can't go against her wishes." She sighs. "There's too much conflict going on within her, I could tell."

"Yes, of course. I can't imagine, but I know that you have so much going on when you have a job like that."

"I still don't know why we divorced in the first place."

"We both know, Alex. The spark just isn't there anymore."

"Sadly, that's the case."

They drag on their goodbyes for another ten minutes or so before Alex finally manages to cease the call. She misses James deeply, but she knows he's right. They couldn't love each other the way they used to. It's forgotten in her soul, but the memories run deep inside.

Two or so more mugs of coffee and several pages of her notebook filled later, she drives back to Northeastern University with several thoughts occupying her usually sharp mind. They all share the same amount of concern for JJ, and she doesn't need the distraction when she's about to start class.

She thinks about cancelling. It's something not undone by Alex Blake, but the occurance of it happening was almost impossible. She isn't one prone to sickness, like the other professors, and family emergencies were not a thing to happen in her life. Scott and Dad figure everything out on their own, and they rarely ever need her help unless it's dire.

Her personal life isn't really a concern anymore. She could go back to the BAU if she wanted, but there's still something missing inside. It tugs on her, but not in a way where she's practically dragged on, but more of a gentle force that is slowly driving her insane.

At the university, she parks her car but does not exit. JJ has been clouding her conscience for the majority of the day, and she wants it to dissapate. For heaven's sake, she barely knows the woman!

"Dammit, JJ," she curses, starting up the engine once more, "why the hell are you in Boston?"

And in that moment, Dr. Alex Blake cancels the first class ever in the new school year.

—o—

She ends up in a bar.

Alex doesn't usually drop by, but her presence is greatly appreciated. Despite the scary professionalism she brings forth to her classroom, she has been growing to be easier to her students. The cold, formal attitude she used to display has gone, and everyone started to adore the chill, more relaxed doctor that they never thought would break out of her hard shell.

Still, it's a surprise when she enters and seats herself on the countertop. The bartender that would serve her almost froze at the sight of the linguist.

"Dr. Blake?" she says, sounding unsure and slightly trembling at her sudden appearance. "You cancelled class today. The _first_ class of the year."

"That, I did."

"But don't you do that when you get sick? You're rarely ever sick, anyways. You're practically a goddess."

Alex chuckles, remembering a fond memory of Garcia calling her such graceful names in a flash. "Yeah, that I do as well." She pauses. "I don't know, I just felt really off today. These depressive periods—they don't happen as often, but they're still there."

The bartender inclines her head with sympathy. "Ah, even the great Dr. Alex Blake has that kind of shit running in her head? I'm sorry, I wish I could help you not feel that way, even if it meant attending class."

"Hah, Therese, I'll be over this by tomorrow." Alex shakes her head, plucking lint off her blazer sleeve. "Right now, I need a bottle of beer to clear my mind."

"Okay, Dr. Blake—"

"Please, it's Alex in public."

"— _Alex,_ one beer coming right up!"

Therese presents the bottle to Alex, stating that it's on the house. The linguist insists on paying, so the bartender agrees to take the $5 tip and thanks her.

"You don't need to, really." She takes a gulp from the bottle. "Man, I miss Bostonian beer."

The college student chuckles, "Well, I've heard how much the people loved you here. I mean, I know it's been 3-4 years since you came back, but they're still thankful that you returned."

"Didn't know I was famous around these areas."

"Yeah, well, you're adored," clarifies the bartender as she rests her elbows on the countertop and clenches her fingers together, "am I ever going to hear the real reason why you're here?"

Ouch. Caught!

But it can't hurt to reveal a few details? Therese is a trusted student and friend by many, and she's a bartender anyways.

Alex weighs in on her decisions before summarising, "A former colleague of mine moved here to get away from work, and she wants it to stay that way. Her co-workers—close friends—are worried, but I have to respect her privacy." She pauses. "And she's not trying to harm herself, but she is being self-destructive."

"Damn! Have you figured out what happened yet?"

"Not sure, but there's definitely a romantic role in this dramatic mess. Think you can try to profile her?"

Therese scoffs. "What? Me? Really?"

The linguist inclines her head in agreement. "Therese, you've got a sharp mind. I've been tutouring you for these kinds of situations, to help me whenever something's off."

"Okay, profile," mutters the bartender before reciting, "judging by the vague information you gave, this is a woman in her 30s, usually outgoing and socially skilled, underestimated by many but not those who know her well, and is not hesitant to put others before herself. She's good at keeping secrets, especially bottling up her feelings because a traumatic event dented her mentality and cannot help but feel lonely at times."

"And?"

"Romantically, she may have been involved with a woman."

"And why a woman?"

"Usually, men won't damage her much. She learned to deal with feelings when a man hurts her, but never with a woman. She's only coming to terms with her sexuality, but this relationship with this woman changed her so much. With the assumed PTSD and the emotional turmoil of the relationship, she is a very broken woman in need of help despite what she thinks."

Alex smiles, pride blooming inside of her. "Ah, Therese, give the FBI a try. SSA Emily Prentiss would love to have you as an addition to her team of profilers!"

"SSA Hotchner left?" asks an overwhelmed Therese.

"He's on WitSec for now. No one knows where he is, not even Emily."

By then, Alex had drank the whole bottle of beer. She would ask for more, but she needs to drive home and doesn't want to leave the car at the pub while riding a smelly taxi home. She knows Therese could tell; she's practically a profiler now.

"Thank you," she says when Alex is nearing the door.

"For what, Therese?"

"Giving me the confidence to trust in my profiling skills. Hope I may work with you in the future?"

"The feeling's mutual." Alex pushes the door open and walks out with a smile on her face.

—0—

 **A/N:** Yeah, I know, terrible. It's only a filler and it's short, but next chapter is pretty good too!


	4. rewrite!

Yeah, I've lost all hope for this version of Take Flight. I tried, but I think I just need to tweak the whole plot because this isn't clicking with me. The basis of this will still be the same, but I have a different way of approaching it when I rewrite. It'll be more planned out so I won't get stumped as often, and I'll try to have updates come more frequently. Sorry for the inconvenience!


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